Bittersweet Symphony
by Winam
Summary: Mulder finds Samantha, but things don't turn out as planned.
1. Chapter 1

TITLE: Bitter Sweet Symphony

SPOILERS: Everything up to Kitsunegari

DISCLAIMER: I don't own FM, DS or Mrs. Scully, nor do I claim to. CC and 1013 Productions do. I promise to give them back after I've finished playing with them. I also quoted from 'The Cat In The Hat,  
written by the wonderful Dr. Seuss, without permission.

BITTER SWEET SYMPHONY by Winam

It came when he least expected it. Early on Good Friday morning when the rest of the nation was fast asleep. Fox Mulder was the exception, of course. Having returned from his early morning run, he had turned on the coffee pot while he showered and changed. Sipping his first cup of coffee, he logged on to check his mail. Mostly junk from half a dozen mailing lists. He was about to reach for his second cup of coffee when he spotted the message.

A moment later, Mulder had pocketed his keys and gun, and was out the door. The coffee laid untouched, rapidly growing cold. The message remained opened, its words flickering ominously on the screen.

SAMANTHA IS DEAD.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Scully waded through the mess that was her kitchen. Obviously, those who thought her a neat-freak hadn't seen her cook. She'd strewn half the kitchen utensils and used up most of the weekly groceries before the dish was in the wok.

She loved cooking, the only domestic activity she was ever good at.  
Growing up, she had turned up her nose at sewing and knitting, preferring to sneak out to play ball at the first opportunity. Not with cooking, though. Melissa had joked that she wasn't such a tomboy after all, but what did a sister who spent more time on boys and makeup know?

Usually, she didn't have time to spend in the kitchen, but today was an exception. It was Good Friday, and her mother would be coming to dinner after Mass. They wouldn't have meat, of course (her mother would blatantly refuse to eat it), but it didn't stop her from being creative. Today, she was cooking a fragrant vegetable curry. She had experimented with Asian cooking lately, and loved the taste. Even more, she loved spending time with her mom, just the two of them.  
Time all the more precious now that they realised how limited it may be.

At two o'clock she started to clean up the mess. To take a shower.  
To get dressed. In time for the three o'clock service at her mom's church. She was joining her for mass this year, something she hadn't done in a while. In previous years she hadn't felt she needed to, but the events of the past year had precariously changed her faith. The miracle of her cure (or what everyone had deemed as a miracle), had led her to question her lack of faith, and even though scientific mind refused to accept that explanation, she was grateful all the same. Grateful that she received another chance at life.

Today, she would give thanks.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It was pathetically easy to find her home. A call to the Lone Gunmen to trace the source of the message. A name. A description. That was all it took. It was one of life's cruel ironies that the sister he had searched the majority of his life for was all that time living less than fifty miles away in Baltimore.

Right under his oversized nose.

Mulder sat in his car, flipping through the fax Langley had sent him.  
He glanced up now and then at the house, trying to connect the words on the page with the reality that was in front of him.

Robert and Samantha Reinhert lived an average life. They lived in a middle-class suburb, in a comfortable middle-class house. They had two children, a boy of eight and a girl of four. Jason Fox and Jessica Tina.

Mulder gave a painful smile at the boy's middle name.

Robert Reinhert worked as a computer consultant. It was a well-paid job, although it did require him to be away from home from time to time. Samantha was a nurse by profession, but gave up full time work when Jason was born. She now worked on a part-time basis at the local hospital. She was working right up until the night of her accident.

The Baltimore PD sighted the incident as a car-jack. Rare in Baltimore but not unheard of. But Mulder dismissed the reasoning as soon as he read the rest of the file.

No fingerprints. Execution style at point-blank range to the back of the head. Keys were still in the ignition.

Too professional. The suspect wasn't after the car. He was after Samantha Reinhert.

The slam of the front door forced Mulder's attention. A boy with dark brown hair ran down the porch stairs, baseball glove in one hand, ball in the other.

My nephew, he thought.

He waited until the boy disappeared into a neighbouring house before he made his way to the front door, tapping the brass knocker purposefully.

Robert Reinhert appeared, peeping from behind the chained door.

"Yes?" Reinhert asked suspiciously, taking in Mulder's conservative g-man wear.

"Mr. Reinhert? My name is Fox Mulder."

Reinhert's eyes widened and then disappeared as he unchained the door.  
He led Mulder silently into the living room. Only then, was Mulder able to take a good look at him.

Robert Reinhert was a tall man, about the same age as himself. His build reminded him of Skinner. Solid as a monolith. Apart from the dark shadows under his eyes, he seemed in perfect health.

That he was surprised to see Mulder was an understatement. He hadn't taken his eyes off him since they sat down on opposite sides of the coffee table. Nothing was said for the first five minutes. Mulder spent the time studying this man who was his sister's husband, and Reinhert spent the time watching him, as if trying to assure himself that this man was real.

Eventually, Reinhert got his act together and spoke.

"Well, Mr... Mulder, did you say?"

Mulder nodded.

"This _is_ a surprise. Samantha didn't talk a lot about her childhood,  
but she did mention she had a brother called Fox. I remembered the name because it was unusual. I assume you know what happened."

"I heard about it."

"Well, it was a shock to everyone. The kids, well, they won't talk about it. My youngest, Jessica, thinks her mother is away on a long vacation. I'm sorry, Mr. Mulder."

"No, _I'm_ sorry. But I didn't even know my sister was alive until a couple of months ago. We met through her... father." said Mulder, almost choking on the last word. "And we didn't exactly get along."

"Yeah, the old bastard's always been secretive. I don't know why Sam insists on keeping in touch with him. He's never around."

That's because he's always tailing me, thought Mulder.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Mulder. I didn't mean any offence to your father."

"My father? No, that man's not my father. I'm not so sure he's Samantha's biological father either."

Reinhert's eyes widened until they almost popped out of his head.

"What do you mean he wasn't her father? He was there all the time, since she was a foster child. He was always telling us all these stories about Sam as a kid. How did he know all that?"

"How much did Sam tell you about her childhood?"

"Not much, she didn't like to talk about it. I knew that she was put into a foster home when she was ten. I didn't ask why and she didn't tell me. I thought it was because her family couldn't take care of her, no offence again. She told me about you. That's about all."

"Well, her relationship with the man you know as her father is quite.  
complicated. He was a friend of my father's and used to visit our house a lot when we were kids. That's how he knew all those stories -- he was probably there. Up until awhile ago I thought he didn't have a lot to do with our family, except make our lives as uncomfortable as possible. But now... now I can't prove to you that he wasn't Sam's biological father. But if you ask my mother, she'll swear to you that my father, Bill Mulder, was Sam's father."

Reinhert was silent for a moment, and Mulder had run out of words.

"Did Sam get hurt as a child?"

"Was Sam abused, you mean? No, she wasn't. Our house wasn't exactly the Cleaver family, but my father didn't touch her."

"Then why did she get put in a foster home?"

Mulder sighed, picking at his fingernails.

"When Samantha was eight, she was abducted from home. I was supposed to be minding her, but I couldn't stop her from being taken. My parents were furious afterwards, my mom had a nervous breakdown because of it. I've been searching for her ever since but never found her.

"Her father arranged for us to meet a couple of months ago. It was too much for her, I guess. To meet the brother she hasn't seen for twenty-five years. We talked for a little while, but I didn't think she wanted us to meet again. She didn't want to remember. And now that I've seen what she has here, I can understand why she would want that."

He looked up at Reinhert. "She was really lucky, Mr. Reinhert. She had a husband, a family, a job... I, she was really, really lucky." He looked down at his hands again. "Anyway, it doesn't matter now."

Mulder stood up, holding out his hand. "I'd better go. Thanks for talking to me, Mr. Reinhert."

Reinhert stood up and grasped his hand.

"I'm sorry you didn't get to know her. She was a good woman. The best. I'm sure she would've wanted to get to know you, so I'd like to give you something."

Reinhert picked out something from the bookshelves and handed it to him. It was a family photo. Sam and Reinhert with their two kids smiling brightly into the camera.

"You can have this. It's the least I can do for someone who's been searching for Sam all these years while I was lucky enough to have her with me."

He picked up a set of keys from the coffee table. "And I'll show you where she is." Reinhert said, opening the front door for Mulder. "No matter what she told you, she would have wanted to see her brother again."


	2. Chapter 2

The Good Friday service was full of symbolism and ritual. Strangely, Scully felt at ease sitting on the wooden pew in a church full of people. It reminded her of the many Sundays she accompanied her parents to church as a child. The sense of familiarity soothed her.

She listened to the readings recounting Jesus' last hours. At the table with friends. Praying in the garden of Gethsemene. Being tried under Pontius Pilate. The crucifixion.

Then, the church stood still.

The thud of the drum startled her. So very abrupt. Final.

Scully glanced from her pew towards the entrance of the church, where a giant cross was being carried on the shoulders of eight youths, dressed in scarlet.

Thud!

The youths stepped forward solemnly, coming ever closer to the altar. Balancing the burden on their shoulders. Much like the burdens that were on her shoulders.

Thud!

Her cancer. Fortunately, that burden had been relinquished for a time. The physical and emotional pain had faded, but not entirely disappeared. Reminding her constantly that the demon disease may return unannounced.

Thud!

Emily. The daughter she had lost. Her only child, though not of her womb. Although she had only known her for a short time, it was enough to be able to miss her. Miss her shy smiles. Miss the way she seemed to instinctively trust her, a total stranger. The sight of a mother nursing her newborn a few places from her now reminded her of this burden.

The burden of infertility.

Thud!

Mulder. He had yet to forgive himself for almost shooting her in the warehouse. For mistaking her for Linda Bowman. His guilt was her biggest burden, choking the newly-found closeness she was just beginning to enjoy. She wondered if he knew that she had long forgiven him, accepted him. She wondered if he would let himself be forgiven.

The drum was silent.

The youths had arrived at the altar. They held the cross high above their heads. All eyes in the congregation focussed on their burden.

Their hope. Their emancipation.

For the first time in a long while, Scully prayed.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

And in the end, his quest led him to this weary piece of ground. This middle-class cemetery in the middle of Baltimore. It began to pour shortly after he left the house, his Taurus trailing behind Reinhert's Landcruiser as they processed down soaking streets. The heavens did not relent as they made their way to her grave, where Reinhert left him after paying his respects.

Dripping in his winter coat, he touched the cold marble of the headstone. Trying to believe.

Here lies Samantha Reinhert.  
Born April 20, 1964.  
Died March 30, 1998.  
Beloved of Robert.  
Mother of Jason and Jessica.  
May her soul rest in peace.

He looked up at the sky, feeling the rain pelt his face. Then, he sank to his knees, letting the memories drown him.

Fox?

Yeah.

Why do Mom and Dad fight all the time?

I don't know, Squirt.

Do you think they love each other?

Of course, they do... Just not all the time.

Do you?

Do I what?

Love me?

Heh, what kind of a question is that? 'Course I do. I'm your brother.

Then would you protect me and all, too?

Sam... yeah, I would, Squirt. I won't let anything happen to you.

Promise?

Promise.

'Kay. I love you, Foxy.

Gee, don't get all mushy on me now. I'm only your brother.

But the best. Could you read 'Cat in the Hat' again?

I don't know, you're really pushing it... This is the last time, okay? You're getting too old to be read to.

But I like it when you read.

Really?

Yeah. You read better than Mom 'cause you do all the voices.

Don't let Mom hear you say that though. So... you comfy?

Uh-huh.

Okay, then.

'The sun did not shine.  
It was too wet to play.  
So we sat in the house All the cold, cold, wet day...'

As Mulder mouthed the words to the book, he wondered whether the sun would ever shine again.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Scully fiddled with her bit of carrot. She tried to concentrate on her mom's story about Aunt Helen, but the uneasy feeling in her gut wouldn't go away.

"Dana? What's wrong?"

"Huh, what was that, Mom?" she asked, having absolutely no idea where the extremely one-sided conversation was at.

"Something the matter?" her mom asked.

"No, nothing really."

"There must be something. You've hardly touched your food."

Scully looked at her almost untouched plate.

"Is it Fox?"

God, Mulder. That must be it. She only got agitated when Mulder went off and did something stupid. But she only talked to him last night, and it didn't look like he was about to jump of a building then. But she was talking about _Mulder_ here, who could be in Mars by now for all she knew.

"No, Mulder's fine. Um... I'm sorry but I've got to make a call."

"Sure, go ahead. I'll clean up here if you're finished."

"Okay. Don't worry about washing up. Just pile it in the sink." she called out as she headed into her bedroom. After she closed the door, she dialled Mulder's home number, hoping her hunch would be proved wrong.

Dana, you're such a mother hen. He might just be out.

But I won't get any sleep until I find out he's okay.

When no one picked up at his apartment after fifteen rings, she dialled his cell phone. The phone was on but he didn't pick up. She knew something was definitely wrong. Mulder didn't usually leave his cell phone lying around unanswered.

She rushed out of the bedroom, catching her mom by surprise.

"Mom, I'm sorry but have to go to Mulder's place. It's pretty urgent."

"Okay, honey. I'll finish up here and head home. Hope Fox is okay."

"I'm sure it's nothing. I'll see you next week then?" she said,  
kissing her on the cheek.

"Take care. And I'll bring those pictures of Matthew."

"Okay. Bye."

She rushed out the door, unaware of her mother's worried gaze.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Tripping down the highway at eighty miles an hour wasn't the most intelligent of actions, he supposed. At least the State Troopers wouldn't be out in full force with the weather so bad. It hadn't stopped raining since he left Baltimore half an hour ago. He was frozen, the rain having soaked through his coat, and was still damp even though the heating was on full blast. He wanted to get home. Bad.

Dragging himself up to his apartment was an even more thankless task. Especially when he was dripping on the carpet, and was so tired he couldn't press the fourth floor button. His apartment wasn't any warmer, heating on or not. He vaguely realised that he must be in shock, though he didn't really know why. A hot shower made him feel marginally better -- at least his teeth weren't chattering.

Then, he eyed the bottle of bourbon. What the hell, a shot wasn't going to do any harm.

After five shots, the world was a little unstable, but it wasn't so cold anymore. He was thinking of the video he got from Frohicke last week. The one with the long-legged brunette doing everything he'd ever imagined. Never mind that he was too drunk to get hard. He felt better than he'd been all of this fucking cold, cold, wet Friday.

He felt something stab him through his shirt pocket. No, he wasn't going to let some sharp thing ruin his night. He removed the offending object and saw that it was the photo Reinhert gave him earlier, now creased and watermarked.

Oh, God. Sam.

He didn't realise he was crying until he noticed the photo was wet. And it wasn't from the rain.


	3. Chapter 3

The traffic was light at ten o'clock at night, and Scully wondered if she was losing it. Here she was, driving half an hour across town to check up on that sorry-assed partner of hers because he didn't pick up the phone. Hell, he might have been partying or jogging (although she couldn't figure out why since it was raining and cold), or a hundred other valid reasons which would explain why he would forget his phone.

Yet, the uneasiness was still there and was going to bug the hell out of her until she reassured herself that Mulder wasn't doing something completely stupid. Like trying to get himself killed. Again.

She managed to find a parking spot in front of his window. The light was on. That was always a good sign.

She made her way up to his floor. The building was so silent that she was almost afraid of waking the whole floor by stepping on a squeaky floorboard.

Mulder's apartment was quiet, too. No television, no music, no one moving around inside. He must be in the kitchen or bathroom, or heaven help her, asleep.

She knocked on the door.

No response.

She knocked again, louder this time.

Nothing.

"Mulder, you in there?" she said loudly, feeling very stupid when she realised no one was listening, except maybe the door.

Why the hell would he leave his light on if he wasn't home? Considering his state of paranoia about most things, Mulder wasn't the most security conscious person, funnily enough.

She let herself in with the spare key he'd given her an age ago, immediately eyeing the occupied sofa. Featuring Mulder's ungracious form slumped across it.

"Mulder?" she whispered, almost reluctant to wake him if he was sleeping. Let the guy get some rest -- he got little enough as it is. The television wasn't on though, unusual for him. Mulder usually couldn't get to sleep without it.

She quickly found in his hands the cause of his unnaturally peaceful slumber. A bottle of Jim Beam, half-empty.

"You're gonna have a killer hangover tomorrow." she muttered, prying the bottle out of his hand. Which was when she noticed what he was clutching in his other hand.

"Samantha." she sighed, staring at the photograph.

An alive, healthy Samantha. With a family. A life.

Unlike her older brother, who laid drunk and ruined on the couch.

She left him holding the photo, grabbing a worn afghan from the closet and draped it over him. Then, she headed for the bedroom, the one he rarely used, and slipped in between the musty sheets of the bed.

And for the second time that day, she prayed.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It was the smell of coffee that woke him. And the realisation that someone was in his kitchen. Making breakfast.

Close behind that came the realisation that his mouth tasted like shit. That he smelled like shit. And that he had one mother of a headache.

Mulder placed his feet on the floor, testing them out by standing on them experimentally. Hell, he needed to know whether he could still walk before making some serious moves.

He managed to shuffle into the kitchen. The first thing he saw was Scully. Eating toast and sipping coffee.

When she looked up at him, she actually smiled. Not a forced one, but an honest-to-God one that lit up her whole face.

"Morning, Mulder. Had a big night, did we?"

"What? What did I do last night?" he said, sitting down before he fell over.

"Don't worry, Mulder. If you thought you slept with me, you didn't."

"Gee, that's a relief." he said sarcastically. "Then, may I ask why you're here so early?"

She put down her cup, and swivelled it round and round in the saucer. "I was worried about you when you didn't pick up the phone. So I came over."

He laughed, shaking his head. "Scully, it's okay by me if you want to cook breakfast for me every time I have a big hangover. But sorry to break it to you -- I don't need you to mother me."

It was her next words that struck him hard. "Mulder, you found Samantha, didn't you?"

Then, he remembered.

The chair fell in his haste to get away. He almost got to the door, but Scully was too quick for him.

She caught his arm. "You found her didn't you? And she wasn't what you expected."

He shook his head violently. "Of course, she wasn't what I expected. She was fucking dead, that's why. DEAD!"

She studied his eyes wordlessly, while attempting to propel him to the couch. He knew she wanted him to talk about it, but no way was he ready. He tried to pry his arm from her grip, but she was too strong.

"Leave me alone." he pleaded.

"Mulder, we have to talk--"

"No, I'm... I can't do it right now."

"What if we took a drive somewhere? Give you sometime to think about things. Then we can talk."

He nodded. It would buy him some time, at least.

"All right, then. Let's take my car."

He silently followed her down to her car, getting in the passenger's seat, though not fastening the seatbelt. Scully glanced suspiciously, but thankfully didn't argue.

She didn't tell him where they were going, and he was too pissed to ask. He had the worst headache, so bad that he couldn't doze. Talking was the last thing he wanted to do, and thinking was even worse. He didn't want to think about Samantha.

So he sat still, not even noticing that Scully was driving east towards Chesapeake Bay, following the road through tiny fishing villages.

By the time the silence lasted for an hour, Mulder had had enough.

"Shit, I'm sick of this. Turn the car around."

She didn't answer. Just kept her eyes glued on that damned road, and her lips sealed as tightly as the hatches of a diving sub.

At that point, he was even desperate enough to beg. "C'mon, Scully. It's almost lunch and I haven't seen a Burger King for over half an hour. Let's get some lunch, and then we can talk. I'll even buy you two Whoopers."

"But we're not there yet."

"There is no 'there'. We're in the middle of nowhere."

"Patience, Mulder. It'll be ten minutes, max."

"It'll better be or I'll run back to DC." he muttered, his headache worse than ever.

Eventually, they came to a headland, where the road ended and the sea greeted them. There was a lookout enclosed by a low wall, a small sundial stood at its centre. Scully parked the car, zipping up her windcheater before jumping out into the cold Atlantic wind that rushed in from the bay. Mulder joined her outside, rubbing his arms through his leather jacket. The cold at least numbed his pounding head.

She walked to the wall, looking out on to the bleak greyness. The weather hadn't entirely cleared from last night's storm. He studied her standing there, her hair whipped back by the wind. She looked so small, so alone, that he forgot about his pain for the moment.

"I used to come here as a kid." she said suddenly.

"Where are we exactly? I wasn't quite paying attention."

"Point Lookout. Dad used to sit me up on this wall and point out all the landmarks. That's the Potomac over there. To the left is Smith Island. And on a really clear day, you can even see Cape Charles right on the horizon, where the Chesapeake hits the Atlantic."

She crossed her arms. Mulder thought she was starting to shiver.

"The wind's kinda picked up." he observed.

She took the hint. "Yeah, you're right. Let's go back to the car."

They ran back, slamming the door before the wind could take away what was left of the warmth. Nevertheless, they could not escape its howls as it filled the silence of the car. They sat, watching the storm brew on the horizon.

"You warm enough?" he asked, trying to break the stillness.

"I'm fine." she said in her usual way.

He squirmed in his seat, staring at the grey sea.

"This reminds me so much of Martha's Vineyard. As a kid, I'd ride my bike up to Gay's Head and sit there for hours. Sometimes to think. Most of the time to get away from Dad.

"One time, Sam followed me up there. I was pretty mad at her for coming 'cause I knew I'd get into extra trouble when Dad found us both missing. She rode up on her bike, even though she was pretty wobbly on it. I yelled at her and told her to go home, but in usual Mulder stubbornness, she wouldn't go. And when I tried to go someplace else, she followed me.

"There was a pretty steep section near the Head. You had to be careful and apply the brakes just right or you'd fall off. I was almost down the bottom of the hill when I heard her scream. Sam had fallen off her bike and was crying her head off. When I got to her, she was clutching her arm, which was sprained, although I didn't know it yet. I was panicking so bad. I knew I had to shut her up or I'll never get her home. So I told her to hang on and that I was going to take care of her. I bandaged her arm with my shirt and rode her home with her hanging on to me in the back. The thing was that after I calmed her down, she stopped crying, and didn't even so much as moan on the way back."

"She trusted you completely." Scully reflected.

"Yeah, she did. I don't know why because I didn't keep my promise."

He felt her eyes on him, demanding her attention, but he couldn't face her.

"Mulder, you were twelve years old. Even your father probably wouldn't be able to stop them if he was in your position."

"My father? He was the one who gave her away. Even if the bastard was sorry for what he's done, I don't know if I could ever forgive him. I went through my whole adult life trying to find her, and you know who gave her back? That Smoking Bastard did."

"What? You actually met her?"

"Yeah... When you were really sick, he tried to make a deal. If I worked for him he would cure you one hundred percent, and get my sister back. Yeah, he was the one who gave me the chip, although it's debatable whether that was what really caused the cancer to go into remission. Then I met Samantha."

"The real Samantha? How did you know she wasn't just another hybrid?"

"I didn't. I just _knew_."

Scully shook her head.

"Yeah," he continued, "I know what you think, but I was convinced it was her. She didn't try to convince me that it _was_ her. Hell, she didn't even want to be there. Said Cancerman made her come. Then she called him her father."

"Her _what_?"

"You heard right. She thinks the Smoking Bastard's her father. Said she lived in a foster home for awhile afraid she reappeared. Then Cancerman turned up one day, claiming to be her father. Since he was one of the few people she remembered from before her abduction, I don't think she's ever questioned it."

"Her father..."

"Yeah, the thought made me want to puke, too. But frankly, after getting those holes drilled in my head, I can't prove he's wrong any more. Anyway, I tried to get her to see Mom, but she refused. And five minutes later she disappeared into the sunset with Cancerman. Of course, he's been kinda quiet lately."

"So, how did you find out about her?"

"Yesterday, I got an anonymous e-mail. Had Langley trace it to an account belonging to a David Reinhert, whose wife's name happened to be Samantha. The catch is that Samantha died two weeks ago. An assassination dressed up as a car-jack. Of course, I doubt that David Reinhert knew that someone was impersonating him. So I went to see him, although I didn't mention anything about the e-mail. My -- brother-in-law -- happened to be decent enough to give me the photo you saw, and showed me where she lives nowadays.

"The thing is, I used to think that when I found her everything was going to be all right. But all the time I was with Reinhert, I kept thinking how lucky she'd been not to sink into the Mulder family tragedy. God, I was jealous of her for having a decent life. I wished that I found her sooner, so she could share some of that luck with me, you know? Maybe then They wouldn't have killed her, and her two kids wouldn't be motherless.

"Now that I know she's gone... I don't know what we're searching for. I mean, all these years we've been searching for the truth, but I don't know if it ever existed."

"I think They just had fun putting bait in front of us and seeing what will happen." she said thoughtfully.

"Pulling our strings as if we're lifeless puppets."

"Pushing us..."

He froze. He saw her blood on the warehouse floor.

He didn't hear his partner swear, shake him by the shoulders in an attempt to snap him out of his trance. He didn't realise that his cheeks were wet with his own tears.

The image faded when he realised that someone was holding him. And that someone was Scully.

He smiled then, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and leaning down to kiss the crown of her head.

"I'm not dead, Mulder." she said softly.

"I know... it's just that one second more you would have been. God, what kind of sick bastard would shoot his own friend?" he said in disgust.

"The kind of bastard who cared enough to cover his partner's ass even if it meant risking his own. The kind of bastard who would listen and respect his partner's opinions, even when he thought it was the most convoluted piece of crap he'd ever heard. And it's the kind of bastard who thought so much of me that he trusted me with his own ass. Even if it meant letting himself be driven a hundred miles from DC on a miserable day to a freezing lookout, and being patient enough to not ditch me half way."

"God, wonder who that sorry sonofabitch is?" he laughed painfully.

"He's right here." she said, rubbing his back gently. "And I'm glad 'cause I'd be... I wouldn't be here. Because that he's the truest friend I've got."

He sighed. "Scully, you make me sound like a saint."

"Oh, I know you're not a saint. But you're not the devil incarnate, either. You're a survivor. And you'll keep on surviving even after this weekend. With or without Samantha. You'll find your own truth. Or it will find you -- I bet it can't wait to bite you in the ass."

"And a sorry ass at that."

"Oh, I don't know about that..."

He turned to look at her. It must have been his lucky day because it was the second time she gave him that glorious smile, this time with a hint of mischief. He shook his head, returning her smile fully.

Scully was indeed happy with his toothy smile, the best she'd seen from him in a long while. She snuggled her head on his shoulders. Watching the rain that now crashed on the windscreen. Washing away her uneasiness. Then, she realised that for the moment, they were indeed lucky.

God answered prayers, after all.

"Truth exists; only lies are invented." -- Georges Braque


End file.
